"Come on Sherlock, it's not as though its going to be for a long time, should only take about an hour at the most," reasoned John, taking a sip from his mug, grimacing at the heat.
"No and that is final." Sherlock shook his head minutely, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"Listen Sherlock, we need the good publicity. Besides, you are always complaining that everyone's an idiot, so surely this is a good chance to shape the younger generation's minds into something a bit more tolerating for you? No wait, what if we end up with a class full of mini-Sherlock's? One is more than enough. What a nightmare. Just ignore me." John grinned from behind his mug, knowing he had intrigued Sherlock, if only just a little bit.
"Hmm..." Sherlock turned his calculating gaze towards John, "A chance to start a revolution. To brainwash impressionable young minds. To make a more perceptive group of children, to wonder if one day they would be able to match my wit and knowledge... I've changed my mind John, hurry up and get changed, and call the school to let them know that I have decided to show face after all," he jumped up and quickly slinked to his room, presumably to get his coat.
John remained seated, taking his time to finish his tea in peace. He had never called off the meeting in the first place, he knew he would be able to convince Sherlock to change his mind from the very beginning.
/
For someone who was always a very imposing and confidant figure, Sherlock looked almost horrified as he stood at the front of the class and let his eyes roam over the plethora of twelve year olds, each grinning at him in adoration with cheap looking deer stalkers sitting upon their heads. Usually people found Sherlock's deduction skills to be mildly annoying at best, so the fact that all these children were highly impressed with his skills and willing to learn must have not sat right with him.
He shook his head slightly, then his stoic face changed from one of uncertainty to what appeared to be a genuine smile to everyone except John, who could always see through Sherlock's act.
"Good afternoon. I am the world's only consulting detective, Sher-" Sherlock was cut off by the classroom shouting his name in unison, like it was precisely timed, and he squinted his eyes at them in distaste and suspicion, wondering if this was perhaps all planned by his brother as a way to humiliate him. Thinking upon that, he dismissed the idea. His brother was far too busy with a new man, and he pondered on when he was going to be introduced to him, if ever. Mycroft had been seeing him for approximately two or three months, and he had tried excessively hard to keep that information from Sherlock, which had just made him realise it that much quicker. He didn't want to really dwell on his brother's sex life all that much, so he threw the idea out of his head with a bit more force than was necessary.
"Yes... I am Sherlock Holmes. Today I have decided to come to your school and teach you a bit about deduction and reasoning so that perhaps, one day, you too will be able to utilise these skills in your everyday life." He smiled snidely, and caught John trying to hide a laugh by coughing in his peripheral vision.
"Before we get started, do you have any questions? Oh and please make sure they are worth my time answering," during the course of Sherlock saying this sentence, literally every kid in the classroom put up their hands, some putting up both, and Sherlock's expression faltered somewhat as he gingerly gestured to one of the children in the front row.
"Oh, oh Mr. Holmes we need your help, we have a mystery!" Everyone else in the class nodded in unison and made noises of joy and excitement.
Sherlock furrowed his brow, "A mystery, as in a crime? I am here to teach, not assist in a case, and I'm fairly sure that any case given to me by twelve year olds will be a two, potentially a three at the most."
The children all sighed and whined, looking upset and downtrodden. Sherlock panicked slightly at the shift in atmosphere and dramatic fall in the mood, looking at John with worried eyes and a helpless expression. John laughed, "Oh don't worry about it kids, Sherlock will solve your case, then if we have time, he can talk about 'deduction and reasoning'. We all learn quicker through doing rather than listening, is that not true Sherlock?"
Everyone turned to Sherlock with hopeful looks, and he felt slightly miffed that he wasn't going to get to give his planned lecture, but he gave in saying that he would, in fact, take their case. He swore sincerely that it was absolutely nothing to do with the looks of anticipation in the deer-stalkered children's eyes, it was merely because John's point had been accurate, that they could in practise learn more in the short time they had.
The group of kids and the two adults alike left the class and started slowly walking down the corridor, with Sherlock listening intently to the children's commentary.
"Phil was pranked!"
"Yeah, he was going to the bathroom, and someone put something on the stairs, and he fell all the way down... Maybe it was an accident?"
"No no no, it was a prank, I'm sure of it!"
"He had to go home and change his trousers after it all happened! Someone said he was soooo scared that he peed himself !"
Sherlock looked slightly baffled by the onslaught, but turned around and questioned the children in return "Where is this 'Phil'? Where can he be found?"
The children stopped mid-step and excitedly turned around and pointed to the boy in back with longish brown hair and bangs, who looked unamused by the whole situation.
"That would be me, sir," he said solemnly, "If you want to know the truth, I could tell you."
"Yes yes, facts are far more valuable than rumours to me in this line of work. What actually happened?" Sherlock at this point had walked straight up to the boy and was staring down at him questioningly.
The boy looked up at him through his fringe and replied, "Well you see, I was going to go to the bathroom, and to get to the boys' toilets, you need to go down five stairs. I started to go down them, and suddenly, I slid and fell the whole way down."
Sherlock suddenly grinned, "Take me there, let's go!" He pivoted on his feet, grabbed the boy by his forearm and started running. Phil's mouth was agape, and the children all started running enthusiastically behind them, holding onto their deerstalkers so they wouldn't fall off, John holding up the rear with a light jog.
Half way to their destination, a screech had them all stopping in their tracks. A woman had stuck her head out of one of the nearby classrooms, and was glaring at them. She opened her mouth and growled, "There is to be no running in the corridors, walk or I shall have to give each and every one of you lot a detention!"
"They are with me. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. When the game is on, running is the best course of action to get to the crime scene!" He looked unamused and sure of himself, which the teacher unfortunately didn't like.
"I swear Mr. Holmes, I couldn't care less if you were the queen herself! If I catch you running in the corridors again, there will be some serious consequences! As for your back-chatting, you will be seeing me tomorrow in the lunch hall after school hours for detention, do you hear me sir?!" The teacher fumed.
Sherlock looked a bit like a dog with his tail between his legs as he nodded at the woman's sudden outburst. John giggled behind his hand, at which point the teacher said that if he had found it so funny, then he could join Mr. Holmes tomorrow as well.
After she had gone back into her classroom, the group set off at a much slower pace until they got around the corner, after which they all started running again, Sherlock grumbling about his detention, and John muttering about how Sherlock always drags him down with him.
/
At the scene of the crime, there was no evidence to support that any incident had ever occurred there. The children had all crowded round Sherlock, taking childish notes in their little books whilst he stared pensively down at the stairs.
"Which one of the stairs was the slidey substance put on?" He questioned Phil.
"This one sir."
"Whereabouts exactly?"
"Right here sir."
"Hmmm... Interesting indeed."
Phil was confused and voiced this feeling to the detective, "Uh, Mr. Holmes, how can any of this information be helpful?"
Sherlock swung around gracefully, and faced the boy, "Don't you see Philip? The substance was put on the top stairs meaning that from most angles, it cannot be seen unless you are already beyond the step. It was also put in the middle for when one is walking downstairs, they tend to centre themselves unless they require the assistance of the bannister. From this we can gather that the incident was precisely timed. You were being watched, and the culprit ran ahead. The fact it was on the top stair in the middle suggests foul play was afoot, as it was statistically the most likely place for you to stand, with least visibility. You were singled out, chosen for this 'prank'. I can tell by several other ticks which you exhibit exactly what the substance on the stairs was, but you clearly don't want your fellow classmates to know for fear of ridicule, so I shall save you from having to tell me. Due to the severity of the prank, we can see that someone must have a vendetta against you, and I can tell that this leaves a wide variety of suspects. You don't have very many friends, and the only reason your fellow classmates want to know who did it is so they can congratulate the culprit," he saw Philip's eyes begin to water, and quickly added "b-but you didn't deserve it. Uh... Children can be cruel. I had no friends at school, everyone was obviously jealous of my intellect. I'm sure they are just jealous of you."
The boy straightened up and a small smirk appeared on his face, his strong facade belittled by his slightly red eyes, "Mr. Holmes, I know they are not jealous of me. But I want to give them a reason to be. I want to be like you Mr. Holmes. Everything I have seen you do so far has been amazing. One day, I promise I will be able to do that to. My dad was right about you. You are "the most intelligent and loveable bastard I have ever met"." He grinned, obviously unaware of the swear he had just used, sticking his hand out to Sherlock.
Sherlock looked taken-aback by the whole speech. The boy had taken his criticism and not started bawling, or shouting angrily. In fact, he had taken his criticism and promised to change himself to appease the detective. This boy reminded him of someone. He couldn't for the life of him remember who. 'The most intelligent and loveable bastard'? Who would describe him that way?
"Well your father is obviously a smart man then."
He gingerly reached out his hand, and wrapped it around the boy's in a firm, comforting grip. He shook it once and smirked in reply to the boy's outright grin.
Throughout this whole conversation, the other children had started running around in circles, gossiping and chatting amongst themselves in a playful manner. John had observed the whole exchange, and was almost touched at Sherlock's attempt to be nice to the boy, with it being so out of character.
Sherlock abruptly turned with distaste to observe the rabble that the children had become. The boy next to him did the same, with an almost identical expression.
"They are so immature, aren't they? Can't keep still for a minute without a teacher. Its quite childish actually." Phil turned his head up at the children, and Sherlock fervently agreed with him, John looking on in a mix of horror and hilarity. He had said one Sherlock was enough, but this was quite funny in itself.
The detective, without warning, swung around and started running down the stairs.
"To the lunch hall!"
All the children heard him and started to run after him outside to the playground, towards the old building at the back.
/
Once inside the building, they marched toward the kitchen. Sherlock turned around when their footsteps silenced, and looked towards where they were all staring. A sign on the wall saying 'NO STUDENTS BEYOND THIS POINT' was obviously the culprit. He had to interview the kitchen staff. It would probably be easier to do without a bunch of kids running amok anyway. He turned to John, "We can't leave them unsupervised. I'll go ahead, and you stay here and look after them."
The children all 'aww'd' in disappointment, and John was about to argue with him, but it was too late, for Sherlock had already disappeared behind the kitchen door.
He looked around, surrounded by the children at all angles, there was no escape really. Not that he could leave them on their own anyway. The boy that Sherlock had spoken to earlier sidled up to John and started to question him.
"So what's it like being Sherlock's assistant Mr. Watson?"
"Uh it's not so bad...Phil?" He asked hesitantly.
"Yeah My name's Philip J. Anderson," he informed John, with a haughty look on his face. "You can call me Phil though sir, most people do. When they actually acknowledge me that is." He took on a unamused scowl.
Put together with the name and the very recognisable facial expression, John had an 'Oh!' moment.
"Your dad wouldn't happen to work for Scotland Yard would he Phil?"
Phil's eyes brightened, "do you know my dad?! He never told me he knew you, he never wants to talk about work. Not that I get to see him often, not after he and mum got a divorce... And I only see him on the weekends really... But he's picking me up today becasue it's Friday!"
John began to grin slyly with amusement at the prospect of Sherlock having inadvertently called Anderson a 'smart man'.
"Oh, I know Anderson. Ugh, I mean your dad. Nice... Nice bloke."
"Aww that's so cool! I can't wait to tell Sherlock!" Phil looked beyond ecstatic.
"Uh no. No wait Phil, I have a better idea. Why don't we wait until after school when Sherlock and I take you guys out to the playground to say goodbye, and it will be a big surprise, eh?" John smiled conspiringly.
"Oh...oh! That's a good idea ! It can be our secret!" John was beginning to really like this boy, regardless of his parentage.
Suddenly, Sherlock burst through the door and slammed it shut, leaning against it heavily, looking horrified with a big red lipstick stain on his cheek, dangerously close to his lips.
"That was a dead end. We...we need to leave this place. Quickly. Before Gerda decides to follow us." He ran out of the lunch hall, the giggling children following after him. John looked confused, until an older, muscly woman opened the door, the lipstick prominent on her lips.
"Sherlock, come back to me!" She shouted, in a thick Russian accent. John swung around on his feet and left as well, smothering a laugh behind his hand.
/
"The pieces are starting to come together. Based on the information given at the crime scene, and the details... presented to me by the lunch ladies, the case should be solved within the hour!" Sherlock announced, exciting the already hyper children.
In their mad dash, they had made their way to the janitorial supplies office, which John stared at with a confused expression, as Sherlock attempted to pick the lock.
"Sherlock, why are we breaking into the janitor's office?" He swung round to the children and added hastily, "Not that that is what we are doing, breaking and entering is wrong kids. Also don't do drugs." The children nodded in understanding.
"Isn't it obvious John? I'm looking for evidence. I suppose under the circumstances you didn't get to hear what the lunch ladies had to say, but I had an inkling from the beginning."
Phil stepped forwards to inspect Sherlock's handiwork, "Sir, what did the lunch ladies have to do with anything in the first place? And... And if you are looking for evidence when we get into the Janitor's office, does that mean that you think he had something to do with this?"
Sherlock eyed the boy briefly before returning his attention to his lock picking, "Yes, you are on the right track, very astute, and as for the lunch ladies, everyone knows that they are the biggest gossip mongers in schools. I was hoping for them to provide me with any rumours that had been circling around about the crime, and they mentioned something particularly incriminating. Now, here we are, gaining access to the janitor's office for proof of his misdeeds against you."
Phil looked torn between amusement and confusion. Why would the janitor do something like that to him?
"Sir, not to be a bother, but I am not quite following. What makes you suspect the janitor in the first place? What did the lunch ladies tell you?"
"Well, for starters, the crime was committed right outside the boys' bathroom. That was the first clue. The crime was planned down to every detail, a twelve year old could not have concocted it without getting caught. So an older person, most likely a member of staff with a sick sense of humour. We already determined that the person that did this to you wanted you to suffer, so they most likely watched the whole scenario play out, and the only unseen vantage would have been from inside the boys's bathroom. If the plan had not come to fruition, you would have continued to the bathroom, and seen the culprit in his hiding spot, so I ask, what older person would you not have been too surprised to see skulking around the bathroom? The janitor of course! He has to maintain the plumbing and cleanliness of the toilets after all."
Phil looked baffled. All these little clues pointed towards janitor, no question, but why? He himself had barely spoke to the man.
"As for the lunch ladies, I asked if they had heard of the incident, and they said they had. At this point I asked them who had told them about it, and they said they had been informed by the janitor. I could tell by how sadistic the crime was that the culprit would not be able to stop themselves from gloating, even if they couldn't outright admit their part in the whole affair, I knew they would have spread the news of the prank like wildfire just to make you even more miserable."
Sherlock had finally managed to pick the lock, and he stood up and straightened his spine with a grunt. Phil stood there nodding, his eyes slowly clouding with hatred for the janitor. John had listened in, and he too was wondering how a sadistic man like that had managed to get a job anywhere near children.
Sherlock gently pushed the door open, and it creaked loudly in protest. He was just about to step a foot over the threshold, when a voice of equal part curiosity and anger asked him "What, may I ask, is going on here?"
Everyone turned around, the two adults looking like rabbits caught in headlights, and the children attempting to hide behind Sherlock and John unsuccessfully, with Phil being the only one who stood up tall, taking a step forward and crossing his arms.
"Headmistress Roehune. This is a crime scene. This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and Mr. John Watson. They are here to solve a case."
The woman eyed him levelly from above her red wing-tipped glasses. "Is that so Philip? And I take it that these men have permission from Mr. Henderson to peruse his office?" She took a few steps towards the group, and peered over the crowd, then into Sherlock's eyes, "You do have permission, don't you Mr. Holmes?"
"Ms. Roehune I think you'll find that you have a very twisted man under your employ. The evidence of his misdeeds can be found behind this door. I beg that you allow us entrance."
The headmistress raised her eyebrow quizzically, "You expect me to grant you entrance to a previously locked room, which you deliberately broke into, without permission?"
Sherlock visibly gulped, then nodded in affirmation.
She stared at him unflinchingly, "Well, though you may have gone about it in the wrong way, I'm actually a reasonable woman. The safety of my children always comes first. You may go inside, as long as I can join you."
Sherlock's whole body relaxed, and the group looked eased by the headmistress' words. They all turned around, and went inside.
/
"What kind of idiot do you have to be to leave plans for a prank of all things lying scattered over your desk? Who makes PLANS for a prank?!" John asked, running his hand over his face in defeat.
"An idiot of immense proportions John. I'm glad that the villain was brought to justice though. He will be brought before the school board and his fate will lie in their hands."
Sherlock and John had said their goodbyes to almost all the children, who had begged them to come back soon, which sherlock had given a noncommittal gesture to. They stood in the playground with Phil, whose dad hadn't turned up yet.
"Mr. Holmes, there's still one thing I don't understand. What was the janitor's motivation? Why did he do this to me?"
"Well Philip, that is obvious really. You did something he could not forgive, yet something that you cannot remember. It must have been insignificant to you, and given the nature of his job, and the version of the prank..." Sherlock trailed off, eyes fixed on something ahead. His mouth formed the shape of an 'O', then he cleared his throat loudly. John and Phil turned around, to see what he was staring at, and it turned out to be an approaching figure.
"Sorry I'm late Phil, got held back at the Yard, how was sc- You?!" Anderson had finally gotten close enough to see who was standing with his son, and the look of distaste on his face was enough to turn milk.
John's face was twitching uncontrollably as he tried to hide his grin, and Sherlock looked bemused yet uncomfortable.
"Me... Yes it's definitely me. How simply wonderful to see you Anderson." Sherlock deadpanned.
Anderson looked like he was about to retort, but Phil had run up to him and hugged him around the middle. He returned the hug, and afterwards held Phil at his side by his shoulder.
"What are you doing here?" He asked with obvious contempt.
"I was here today to teach your son's class in the school of deduction. In the process, I uncovered the perpetrator of the prank against Phil, and he is now facing the consequences. I think, and you know I loathe to admit this, but I think that I may have also learned some things myself today. Your son is very bright, well done Anderson."
"Yeah dad, he was brought to justice! It was so cool, Mr. Holmes was amazing, I learned so much today!"
"Yes Sherlock, didn't we just have a great time today? We got that dodgy faculty member out of the school, and we learned a lot of things about some people as well, for instance, I remember you saying that whoever Phil's dad was must have been a "smart man"!" John nudged Sherlock with his elbow, grinning in malevolence.
Anderson stood there with a very strange and unplaceable expression on his face, as he was attempting to understand either why Sherlock was complimenting his son, or why his son was complimenting Sherlock. The fact that Sherlock had inadvertently called him smart was just the icing on the cake. He could not process this information all at once.
"Uh... That's um... That's nice. Wait, you called me smart?" He stared at sherlock with a blank face, which grew into a ghost of a smile.
"Hmm, I suppose I did didn't I?" He gave him a good natured smirk, "It was unintentional of course, but I did say that."
Anderson, frowned slightly, but it was obvious he was just pretending to be affected by Sherlock's words, "Oh now that's not very nice, only you could say a good thing about someone and then turn it into a metaphorical slap to the face, Holmes."
Sherlock eyed him curiously, "Well you know what they say, I am the most intelligent and loveable bastard of my time." He outright grinned at Anderson, who had gradually turned a peculiar shade of pink. Anderson was obviously trying to think of a response, something along the lines of 'don't swear in front of my son' but his words failed him, knowing that Phil had passed along that tidbit of information to Sherlock was mortifying.
"Your son is very much like you, you know. I know we have never really gotten along, but I think he has helped me see you in a new light. You only ever wanted to impress me right? But I always shot down your ideas. I'm sorry for that." Sherlock made his best attempt to look genuine.
"Uh no. No I never tried to impress you! Not even once! Ehm..." He looked down at his feet, then lifted his head high in a pompous manner, "I don't need to impress anyone, I'm already the best, really."
Phil was standing next to him with an almost identical expression, but with a friendlier smile.
"Woah, so today has been fun, but me and Sherlock have got to go, I start work soon, and I am planning on getting food before that happens." John stretched his arms above his head.
"Yes we have got to run as well. I need to feed the monster known as Phil." Phil looked shocked, and started running around waving his hands in the air like a mad-man. Anderson gave them a look of long-suffering.
Sherlock approached him, and stuck out his hand, "I'm glad we seem to be getting along better. I'm sure this will be beneficial to our work relationship in the future." Anderson rolled his eyes dramatically, but reached out and shook his hand anyway. Abruptly, Anderson's face became confused. He furrowed his eyebrows, then they shot up into his hairline, before they came to rest back in their normal position. His face was bright red, as he let out a very strained, "A pleasure." Then he dropped Sherlock's hand, briskly turned around and all but ran, dragging his son behind him.
John came up alongside Sherlock, who had a misplaced grin on his face. "What did you do to him? Why did he almost break his neck trying to run away from us?"
Sherlock eventually ripped his gaze away and answered,"You know those stupid television shows you make me watch? Well I remembered one useful thing from them." He went into his pocket, and showed John a ripped piece of paper and a pen, and held them up, "When I shook his hand, I gave him my number." He grinned manically at John, who all but lost the will to live.
One shot? Maybe. But I quite enjoyed writing this, I'd be up for a sequel if you guys are. Or maybe multi-chapter? Either way, there's not enough Anderlock out there guys. Get writing! R&R please!